via GIPHY

I have never dabbled in satire.

I think I should participate in it if it helps illuminate issues or problems that women go through.

I’m well aware that the “if men had periods” shtick has been done over and over again, even scoring itself many ai interpretations. Those are absolutely hilarious by the way and maybe a wee bit sad if you ask me. How? It’s simple really, it reveals society’s absurd prioritisation of notions or perceptions of masculinity while simultaneously revealing the fact that society diminishes women’s struggles and chalk said experiences to a whole lot of nothing because we are perceived as the weaker sex.

Quite a tongue twister huh? Regardless of that fact, the depiction of men in their periods basically exposes the double standards that society holds when it comes to men and women’s experiences.  

I would like us all to close our eyes and imagine a world where men are the ones burdened with menstruation. What would that world look like?

Picture this:

It’s a warm Saturday afternoon, the African sun’s usual assault on the earth is kinder, the grass is green and the birds are chirping. Somewhere in Bulawayo, a group of men are gathered around a braai stand. They are clutching ice-cold Zambezi’s, debating the merits of their football teams with all the seriousness of a high court hearing.

Now picture the same group, still loud, still slightly tipsy, however every single one of them is on their period. (*insert dramatic gasp*).

Yes, you read that right. Period. Menstruation. Aunt Flo. The Red Wedding. UGogo uRuby. Mbuya Ruby has entered the building.

You see, if men could menstruate, the entire continent would be different, heck the entire WORLD. First of all, menstruation would be a badge of honour. A sport. An Olympic event. It would not be “shameful” or “disgusting”. Billboards of popular athletes clutching their abdomens as a show of strength will be littered across the roads. There’d be televised interviews after Day 1.

“Tell us, Captain Themba, how are you managing today’s cramps?” The interviewer asks enthusiastically.

“It’s been rough, bro. My uterus tried to kill me at 5am, but I powered through with a russian, chips and two ibuprofens. I dedicate this flow to my ancestors.” Captain Themba replied, fisting his hand and holding it up as a show of power.

Just imagine Panashe, 6ft tall, gym rat, Twitter philosopher, crying over cramps in the kombi because he forgot to carry his Manpon.

In a world where men could menstruate, there would be no shame. No whispering in the tuckshop line. No shoving pads up your sleeve like you’re smuggling gold.

Instead, there would be:

“Heavy Flow Championships: Sponsored by Castle Lager”
“National Menstrual Day Public Holiday – With Free Meat Hampers”
“BLOODLINE: A Netflix Original Docuseries Featuring Menstrual Warriors from Matobo to Binga.”

There’d be political manifestos like:

“We promise to lower period tax, subsidise red meat for iron, and increase access to herbal teas passed down by Gogo Mbali!”

Our uncles would suddenly be pioneers of wellness;

“Ah, my boy, don’t use that cheap pad, go for the Ultra-Max Flow King with Aloe. It soothes the masculinity.”

Men would brag about their flow like they brag about gym stats:

“Day 4. Still bleeding. No painkillers. Just vibes.”

And trust, the marketing would be obnoxiously masculine:

“Kotex KINGS: For the Brave. The Bold. The Bleeding.”
“Always Ultra-Alpha – Leave No Stain Behind.”

Pads and tampons wouldn’t just be accessible they’d definitely be sponsored. There’d be branded “Flow Gear” by Adidas to appeal to masculinity. Nike would probably have a whole “Just Bleed It” campaign. Kotex would be sold next to condoms in sleek black-and-gold boxes with slogans like “Unleash The Beast Within”.

What about the Period Olympics? Men would compare flow rates like they compare their cars or muscle gain from the gym. It would go something like this:

“Bro, I had a level 5 flow yesterday.”
“Yoh, that’s light, fam. I clotted during the Soweto Derby.”

African uncles who’ve never washed a dish in their life, let alone know what a kitchen looks like would suddenly become menstrual sommeliers.

“Hmm, yes. Day 3 flow? Earthy notes. Reminds me of 1983 when the rains came late.”

Village elders would create Menstrual Totems. “You are of the Blood Moon Clan, son. Your first period shall be celebrated with goat stew and traditional dance.”

Meanwhile, Parliament would definitely pass legislation like The National Menstrual Day Leave Act, giving all menstruating men a week off every month with full salary, snack vouchers, and Netflix bundles (The latter two benefits might be wee bit far-fetched, this is still Zimbabwe after all). There would be debates about whether the “PMS Allowance” should be USD or local currency.

Oh, and the lingo, don’t get me started! It would be nothing short of ridiculous. Men would rename everything:

• Pads? “Manpons”
• PMS? “Power Mood Syndrome”
• Menstrual cup? “The Blood Pint Glass”

The Global West would feature pride parades of men marching with red bandanas shouting, “No womb? No glory!” But alas back in reality, when women menstruate, we’re told to keep quiet, hide the pad in our sleeve like it’s deadly contraband, and apologise for existing during shark week.

If men could menstruate, it would be a matter of national pride, not private shame. The way we hide our menstrual pads when we want to go and change them during class is private shame. The way we cover our period stains on our clothes because boys, men and just about everyone would shame us or laugh at us despite the fact that it’s normal. So maybe next time you hear a boy in Form 2 laugh about periods, ask him if he’d be brave enough to bleed monthly and still dazzle the world like Simone Biles at the Olympics?

In a situation where men could menstruate, the world would operate differently. There would be no stigma. Periods wouldn’t be “gross” or “too much information” or “shameful”, they’d be cultural currency. Political capital. Both a symbol and test of strength and not a symbol of weakness.

Instead, here we are, getting shamed for cramps, taxed for tampons, and expected to smile through uterine warfare like it’s pay day. We are told to be ladies while bleeding like lions. Sighs.

So no, this post isn’t about whether men should menstruate. It’s a middle finger, if you will. A menstrual manifesto if I ever read one. A love letter to every girl or woman who’s ever bled in silence, afraid that society would shame them or silence them if they tried. To every girl hiding a pad in her bra, to every mother making a plan with newspaper, leaves, tattered cloth and courage to battle period poverty, to every schoolgirl who bled through her skirt and was told to “be careful next time”.

Yours in cramps, cadbury bubbly mint chocolate and feminist findings,

• The “Weird” Brown Girl.